


Bleeding Out

by siriuslymcfly



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, Derek is an idiot, Hurt Derek, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Very Mild Gore, but we love him, not really much at all, so does Stiles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-16
Updated: 2013-12-16
Packaged: 2018-01-04 20:28:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,281
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1085367
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/siriuslymcfly/pseuds/siriuslymcfly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Why couldn't his school teach him something useful, like perhaps How To Save A Werewolf 101, or maybe provide a self help book called "Don't Panic! You can save your werewolf friend from certain death by following these quick and simple steps!" Stiles' life just isn't that easy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bleeding Out

**Author's Note:**

> So, this is also available on fanfiction.net as I posted it there first, but after the awesome response I got from the work I put up here last night, I thought I should sync my accounts and have everything available everywhere :)  
> This was originally for 'thecoloursoftheworld' who was super cool about some of my other work. Hope you guys enjoy this one!

“You're an idiot, you know that right? A complete and utter idiot!” Usually, Stiles would know better than to insult an Alpha werewolf who, on a regular basis, was prone to throwing him into hard surfaces and causing minor bodily harm.  But on this occasion he assumed he could get away with it. Considering Derek was currently collapsed on the ground, barely breathing and oozing blood onto the stained tarmac, Stiles guessed he wouldn’t be in any shape to threaten him, let alone gain enough strength to put those claws and teeth to good use. He sure as hell wasn’t using them to protect himself, going by the four deep gashes that had been clawed through the Alpha’s chest, leaving the skin raw and open, oddly similar to that of the injuries Stiles only ever witnessed in his video games. How the hell could something like that _be real life_?! Of course, he hadn’t factored in that his life wasn’t _normal_. His friendship group was made up of a werewolf best friend, said best friend’s werewolf hunter girlfriend, a couple more werewolves, an ex-kanima turned werewolf and whatever the _hell_ Lydia was. And then there was Derek. If Stiles was thinking past _holy-shit-theres-so-much-blood_ he would be ecstatic that he had to use more than one hand to count his friends on. But there wasn’t time for that because _holy shit_ where was all that blood coming from?!

“Stiles,” Derek growled, though it came out as more of a gargle as another mouthful of the black tar like substance trickled out of the werewolf. Stiles blanched. Right, injured Alpha on the floor.

“ _God_ Derek what the hell happened?” He knelt closer, not caring if he would accidentally end up in a pool of the drying blood, crusting over the surface of the road like a new coat of extremely gory paint. Why was it always him having to come and save the day? He was supposed to just be Robin for god’s sake, but here he was, trying desperately not to melt down and freak out over the dying body before him. He was _not_ the right person to be doing werewolf recovery, but there was no one else. Scott was, as per usual, with Allison, probably on some secret date that was no way in hell a secret from anybody, except maybe Danny who couldn’t care less about their love life and wasn’t involved in all the supernatural shit Stiles had to live through every day of his freaking life. He had no idea where the rest of Derek’s pack was, and he had no way of contacting them without his phone, which was still in his jeep, the other side of the abandoned parking lot across the street, with its battery dead. Probably not his best planning, but he was running purely on adrenaline and adderall for the past two days, what did people expect?

“I don’t know what to do! Why aren’t you healing?” Stiles gasped out when Derek choked up another mouthful of blood, spitting it ungracefully all over his own ruined shirt and tattered chest. Why did it feel like everything was moving too quickly, yet in that moment like all of time had stopped? Stiles’ heart raced, pounding erratically against his ribcage like it was trying to break free. He couldn’t concentrate, everything felt like it was closing in on him. The gentle hum of cars in the distant had become an extravagant roar against his ears, the usually undetectable smell of gas and burnt rubber was hanging heavily in the air, crawling into Stiles’ nose like heavy smog in a city centre. He even thought he could feel Derek’s pulse beneath his blood covered fingers, slowing down every second that went by, every second Stiles failed to make a decision.

 

“I don’t know what to do, shit I don’t know! God don’t die on me Derek, please don’t die. I need to get those closed up, they’re starting to smell. Is this what death smells like?” He rambled aimlessly, hands flitting uselessly over the other man’s body. What did he mean _other_ man? He was merely a boy, a boy who had been unceremoniously dumped into a situation he had no idea how to control. Stiles was pretty sure this was exactly how he would feel if he was ever put into a position of responsibility. He couldn’t even imagine himself doing his dad’s job, or even _Derek’s_ job, because Derek had to take care of a whole pack of puppies who just seemed to attract trouble, more so than even Stiles did. Why couldn’t his school teach him something _useful_ , like perhaps _How To Save A Werewolf 101_ , or maybe provide a self help book called _“Don’t Panic! You can save your werewolf friend from certain death by following these quick and simple steps!”_

“Stiles.” Derek’s voice was weaker, barely above a whisper. Stiles whipped his head round, locking eyes with the Alpha. There was no life there, no hope left in the usually hard and calculating orbs. Derek had given up. Fleetingly, Stiles wondered if that was the look a young Derek would have had after the fire. He could just imagine a small boy, barely his age, finding out everyone he had ever cared about was lost. Somewhat disturbingly, Stiles could picture it easily, after witnessing the expression Derek had in that moment.

“No! No way in hell am I letting you go Derek!” He placed his hands either side of the man’s face and stared. Just stared, trying to convey everything with just that look. He needed Derek to fight. For once Derek’s eyes weren’t guarded, but an open book, allowing Stiles to rip his way through the pages, desperate to find _something_. Anything that would keep the Alpha going. He hadn’t noticed the salty tears sliding down his cheeks, dripping from his chin onto the motionless body beneath him, until Derek lifted a hand painstakingly slowly, and brushed a thumb carefully over his cheekbone, catching one in its path. His eyes fluttered closed before Stiles pulled away and tugged his shirt over his head. Tearing it up, he tried to wrap it against the wounds, desperate to stop the bleeding in anyway he could.

“You can heal from this,” Stiles whispered, his face barely a few inches from Derek’s. A small, wry smile crept onto Derek’s lips. Stiles couldn’t bare this, he couldn’t watch Derek just _leave_. He had never been able to watch him leave. Of course he hadn’t, because this was Derek; the man Stiles hadn’t been able to figure out, the man he’d allowed to throw him around because it never really hurt, the man he’d accidentally **fallen in love with**. And now he was about to watch him die.

“Please Derek,” he begged. Stiles pulled Derek’s head into his lap and cradled it, choking out his pitiful begs to some unknown being. The hand came up to his face again, this time Derek watched with half lidded eyes as his thumb traced down Stiles’ jaw and across his bottom lip. Stiles pressed a kiss to the pad of his thumb, his tears blurring his vision. What kind of sick joke was this? Why did he have to realise how _desperately_ in love he was with the aggravating sourwolf in his last moments?

“I.. sorry..” Derek croaked out, voice hoarse and barely there, but the words could have been screamed from the top of his lungs, they would have had the same affect on Stiles in that moment. He shook his head frantically, running his hands over Derek’s face and neck, not even daring to glance at the weeping gashes on his chest. The hand dropped from his cheek the same time Derek’s eyes slid shut, his breathing coming in short huffs. Stiles squeezed his own eyes shut, letting the tears splash wherever they landed. He pressed his forehead to Derek’s, feeling the skin there cold against his own. He didn’t hear the screeching of tires, nor did he register the cries of his name. His focus was only on the body in his arms, now limp and lifeless, and all Stiles could do was cling tighter, afraid to ever let go.

* * *

 

“You should eat something.” Stiles stared at his best friend blankly, not even seeing him. His eyes were unfocused, lost in his own thoughts. “Stiles you haven’t eaten properly in days. _Please_ just come downstairs and have something. Nothing will change in the few minutes you’re gone.” Again, no reply. Scott shot Allison beside him an anxious look, but Stiles couldn’t care less. He wasn’t leaving. He hadn’t left the chair in the corridor down from Derek’s room since a nurse had placed him in it after telling him he couldn’t stay on the floor outside the door. Everyone seemed concerned, but that didn’t move him. In the end the nurses had given up trying to get him to go home, and his dad had ended up bringing a few changes of clothes for him. The pack had been back and forth since the pair had been brought in, but Stiles hadn’t kept track of their whereabouts. His mind felt too slow, like he was trying to pull his thoughts through water, desperately dragging them against the resistance but losing the battle. All he could feel was the dried blood embedded in his skin. All he could smell was the tar like substance contaminating his clothes, even after he had changed. Stiles didn’t know why people often described something traumatic being etched into their mind. It felt like Derek’s last look had been permanently carved into the inside of his skull, deep and slowly. And it would throb painfully every time he closed his eyes.

 

He must have fallen asleep at some point, because all of a sudden Stiles was woken by a gentle hand pressed against his forearm. He jerked up, his neck aching uncomfortably from his weird sleeping position. The nurse had a small smile on her face, an almost fond expression in her eyes. “Sorry to wake you dear, but I thought this would be important.”

“What’s happened? What’s wrong? Did something change?” Stiles reeled off, his body rigid and straining to hear the now familiar sounds of a heart monitor that lulled him to sleep at night. The nurse patted his arm.

“Nothing is wrong dear. Quite the opposite in fact. Your friend is awake. Usually, we’d only let family visit at this time but.. well, he requested you.” Stiles’ breath stuttered then rushed out in one go, leaving his lungs gasping for more oxygen. Derek was awake. Derek had requested him. “Would you like me to show you to the room or do you know your way?” she asked knowingly. Stiles shook his head, which he hoped she would realise meant he didn’t need her help, and slowly pushed himself up off the chair. For something with cushions, it was deceptively uncomfortable. Or maybe that was because he had spent the last four days there, only leaving to go to the loo and change his clothes.

 

Stiles almost stumbled to the room, pausing briefly at the door before inching it open. The heart monitor bleeped away in the background, but Stiles concentrated on the body beneath the white sheets. From the stillness, he would have assumed the sheets were there to cover a corpse, but Derek’s face held more colour in it than when Stiles last saw him. His chest, upon closer inspection, was also rising and falling gently, shallow breaths of air leaving his lips every few seconds. Stiles edged closer to the bed until he was beside it, close enough to examine the slightly rougher stubble along Derek’s jaw and over his cheeks, and to see the bandages poking out from underneath the covers. He almost jumped back when Derek’s eyes suddenly opened, their green depths gazing steadily at Stiles, so different from four days ago. It took a few minutes of simply gazing before Stiles could even come up with words.

“You’re an asshole, you know that right?” he choked out. Derek’s lips twitched. “You scared me so much. I spent eighteen hours almost certain you were dead! And not fake dead like you seem to love doing, but really actually dead Derek! You were bleeding out in my arms and I-” Stiles took a calming breath, willing the tears to stay away. “I lost you Derek and I can’t do that again. You can’t put me through that again understand?” All humour had left Derek’s face by then. He pulled himself up the bed slightly, and untangled a hand from the sheets.

“Come here,” he whispered, his voice still weak. Stiles stepped forward hesitantly. He didn’t know if Derek even felt the same way. The guy had been dying, not confessing his eternal love on that asphalt. Derek gripped his wrist gently and pulled him in closer until Stiles was leaning over him, hands either side of Derek’s shoulders to support himself. Not satisfied yet, Derek rested the hand against Stiles’ cheek. It was too much, yet not enough. Too soon since what had happened, but Stiles never wanted Derek’s skin to leave his. He leaned down so that his lips were an inch away from Derek’s, waiting for the other to make the final move. Their lips pressed together in a barely there kiss. It was more what it signified than the physical actions, but Stiles’ lips still tingled when he pulled away.

“You’re an idiot,” he whispered hotly, forehead pressed against Derek’s. The Alpha smiled, crooked and genuine for once.

“Your idiot,” he replied.


End file.
